The Desk Outside His Office
by irislim
Summary: He promised before that he wouldn't date her. Now, he wishes he'd just married her. And, maybe, in some way, he did. He's a serial womanizer who is essentially married to his secretary - because she deserves so much better than being just another notch on his bedpost. The question is - would this kind of marriage ever be truly enough?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story is heavily inspired by Harvey and Donna's dynamics from "Suits." I stopped watching the show a few seasons in, but I still feel inspired by the lovely chemistry between the leads! There will be four chapters in total._

* * *

There are days when the weight of the world cracks his back, when the chip on his shoulder grows so heavy that he's quite sure it's torn any ligaments he has between his torso and his arm - and he'll try to sigh as subtly as possible - and look out through the glass walls of his office.

And there she'll be, eyebrows inquisitive and eyes warm. And her face will eloquently ask how he's doing, and how she can magically make things better.

Then he'll smile reassuringly, because her being there - being _always _there - is enough to make things better. And she'll pull up against her desk in her perfect body in a perfect dress - and her warm, knowing smile will buoy him until the next storm threatens to rise.

She's special. He's always known that. Everyone knows that. When life steers you towards choppy waters, Lizzie Bennet is the person you want on your side. She gets her way without force. She tells you point blank what you need to hear. In your triumph, she's your anchor. In your stumbles, she's your rail.

She's a chameleon who manages to be the exact color he needs her to be, every damn time.

And it's just too bad that she knew he needed a secretary more than he did a girlfriend.

"On one condition," she'd replied instantly, that time he'd offered her an extremely attractive employment package just to poach her over to his new firm. "Whatever we had, romantically, ends here. I'm not going to start a new job as the girl who sleeps with the boss."

He wanted to argue, even then, that he would just be _her _boss instead of _the _boss. He's not exactly senior partner quite yet.

But she had been insistent, and he had needed her too badly not to give in.

So here they are, night after night, each clocking out within an hour of each other no matter who leaves first. She's gorgeous and intelligent; he's successful and, according to public opinion, very suave. He hasn't seen the inside of her apartment since that one magical night before his new job. She, on the other hand, has seen his penthouse flat more times than he can count.

When he's sick, she's there. When he's flying in late, she's there. When he needs to make sure his latest one-night stand doesn't linger, she slips into the role of angry wife with more ease than should be natural.

Sometimes, he reflects on just how lucky he is to have her.

"Meatball pho, spring rolls, with extra lettuce." She appears at his desk, takeout in hand. Her smile is as enchanting as it always is. He doesn't know how she managed to slip out, travel seven blocks to his favorite Vietnamese place, and come back with her spoils so quickly – but he's learned to stop questioning her inhuman powers when they're employed so glaringly in his favor.

"Charged your meal to my card too, I hope."

She waves the supplementary card in her hand with a winning smile. "You don't have to ask twice."

On days like this, when she's the central point of his entire life – when she's the only person to ever really _get _him, he wishes he could go back in time and undo his agreement to her one annoying condition.

He could say that he'll let it cool off for a year, or a month. He could let her establish her reign over the office first before disclosing anything personal between them.

There have been times, so many times, when he's buried himself in between another nameless woman's thighs, closed his eyes, and thought of her the entire bumpy way.

The sad part is that those women are never Lizzie when he opens his eyes again.

But he's foolishly agreed to her short-sighted proposal, and he can't exactly take back his agreement now without looking like a gigantic jerk.

Who says she'll even want him now – when the last five years have given her the most unflattering glimpses into his mess of a life?

To the outside world, he's William Darcy, god among men – the most talented and winsome lawyer in the country. He has old _and _new money in his accounts, and good genetics have given him a presence that draws women to him like moth to a flame.

But Lizzie knows better. Lizzie knows he's broken inside ever since his sister's disaster of a marriage and short-lived reality show stardom. Lizzie knows he sees his therapist at least twice a week. Lizzie knows what he likes, what he doesn't, and all the whys behind those two.

And as much as he wishes they could be more than hotshot corporate lawyer and his miracle-working assistant, she hasn't ever mentioned it – so neither can he.


	2. Chapter 2

He drops off her official birthday gift before anyone else arrives at the office – the latest Chanel has to offer and a collection of all her favorite flowers collated into one gigantic bouquet. She thanks him with a wink when she arrives, before she's flooded by everyone else's congratulations and ill-masked attempts at gaining her favor.

He has her favor.

After all these years, he inexplicably does – and he intends to keep things that way.

He stays late on her birthday, like he does every year. And when everyone else has gone ahead to the penthouse bar across the street, waiting for Lizzie to finish up and join them, Darcy carries the _real _birthday gift – all twenty carats of sparkle – out to her desk and clips it on her beautiful, delicate wrist.

He wants to kiss her face when she beams up at him like this, so he lets himself kiss her hand instead.

When everyone oohs and ahs over Lizzie's personalized bracelet, she smiles and attributes it to a secret admirer. Only when no one's looking would she send Darcy and his smirk an air kiss and a conspiring wink.

Darcy's smirk deepens.

All the glamor fades two days later, when he hears her sobbing in the abandoned ladies' room after hours. It was supposed to be a last stop, a quick visit to the restroom before he heads to the bar to woo his faceless lady for the night.

"Lizzie?"

"Sorry, Will, I – " She wipes her face frantically. He enters the tiled room fully to take her by the shoulders.

"Lizzie, what's wrong?"

"I just hope it won't come out positive." She sobs – and it takes him a few seconds to register what exactly she's holding in her trembling hands.

Darcy swallows. "I'll stay with you. We'll figure it out."

"Thank you."

He does wait with her, nameless bimbo at the bar forgotten, until she finally gains enough courage to take the test and wait for those three excruciating minutes while folded in his arms.

He wishes he were holding her for other reasons.

She shakes with relief when the test – and the next one – come out negative. Darcy smiles faintly.

"Whose would it have been?" He asks later, trying to sound casual, when he helps her pack up her stuff for the day.

Lizzie looks at him, straight in the eye, and he could swear there are tears in hers. "Some random guy I met at the bar last month. It would have been disastrous."

Darcy feels his chest tighten. "Good thing then."

"Yeah, very good thing. It was this moment of weakness and I – " She sighs deeply. He lets her. "Thank you again."

"No problem."

He wonders if he should hug her, though he really isn't the hugging type. He thinks about it for too long and misses the chance.

"Enjoy your night. Call me if you need anything." Lizzie's smiles borders on a smirk. She _knows _what he was planning to do.

But what Darcy knows now is that he's not about to have another one-night stand with a random stranger ever, ever again.

"I'll drive you," he offers.

"I'm a little on edge, but not drunk. Don't let me derail your conquests." Lizzie smirks and sashays her way out.

He wishes he could tell her she's the only conquest he's ever really wanted to win.

"Congratulations!" everyone shouts when they crowd around Lizzie on Monday. Darcy figures they're adulating her latest professional feat. When the universe pools its resources and creates the miracle that is Lizzie Bennet, it's only natural for mere mortals to fall at her feet.

It's not until an hour later, when professionalism and a very stern and frowning Catherine de Bourgh finally kicks everyone back to their own desks, that Lizzie enters his office.

"Will." There's a fondness to her tone. He likes that fondness. "Is everything alright?"

"Seeing as I haven't had to call on your emergency services the whole weekend, I suppose everything can be considered to be going tolerably well."

She chuckles, but it's not as hearty as her usual way.

It makes him look up.

And it makes him exert all his effort not to gape at the gigantic diamond ring on her left hand ring finger. He saw that design when procuring her bracelet last week. It's not bespoke, not like his gift for her.

"I see congratulations are in order?" He manages.

She offers a smile, but it doesn't really reach her eyes.

"Thank you."

"I hope it's not the guy from the bar."

Now, she laughs. "No, thank God. John was away during that time, and I just couldn't – anyway, thank you – for everything."

"You still have to butter me up to approve your honeymoon leave."

"Copy that – boss." They exchange smiles – and he keeps his up until she takes her coffee break.

John – John Lucas – he searches and finds and researches within minutes. There are pictures of him and Lizzie – nice, tame, happy pictures. By all accounts, it looks like they've been dating for at least a year.

He wonders why she's never mentioned it – or if it's he who hasn't been listening at all.

* * *

_A/N: She's not an angel either, hehe. And they need each other because no one else can know the other better or care for the other more!_


	3. Chapter 3

"It's a misdemeanor. I'll live," he growls when she pulls him out of the precinct.

"Just shut up, Darcy. I'll pick up your car tomorrow." She shoves him into the Uber, following after him into the back row. She recites his address from memory and hangs on to him firmly all the way down the car, across the sidewalk, into the lobby, and up to his penthouse suite.

It's almost sickening how thoroughly she's entwined with his life.

She's his emergency contact – has been for years. And it makes his gut twist when he thinks of how, in another two months' time, she'll have to be leaving someone else's home – maybe even asking the permission of a bloody _husband _\- to come pick him up in the middle of the night.

"I'm fine!" He shrugs her off when he tumbles onto his couch. At this rate, the white leather won't stay white for long.

"You need water," Lizzie pronounces, though a little more sternly than usual, before marching to his kitchen like she's always belonged there.

He wishes she did.

She doesn't say another word the whole entire time she readies him for bed – procuring his most comfortable pajamas, clearing his bed of the fancy duvet and decorative pillows his cleaning lady painstakingly arranges every day. She hauls his sorry ass off the couch and deposits him on the king size expanse that's been so very lonely these days.

It takes so much self-control not to drag her down to the bed with him. He groans.

"You've been spiraling," she says when he's finally tucked in like a child. He looks hollowly back at her. She looks a little concerned, a few fine lines creasing in her forehead, even as she fusses over his multitude of pillows and preps the array of pills and fluids on his bedside table. "Why haven't you been bringing back any bed buddies? You look like you've been desperately needing to get some."

He waits until she meets his eyes.

Then he figures the hell with it.

Liquid courage is a fascinating thing.

"Because the only woman I actually _want _to sleep with for the rest of my life is scheduled to marry another man in another eight weeks – and it doesn't look like I can do anything about it."

She stares back wordlessly.

He knows she's heard him, loud and clear.

"Goodnight, Darcy," she whispers, pecks him on the brow, and leaves.

He sleeps fitfully.

She's not there when he wanders out of his bedroom in the morning, but the couch sports a warm, suspicious imprint of a ladylike figure.

He tells her thanks on Monday. She smiles and says, "Don't mention it."

It all gets back to normal – _too _normal.

But a week later, he hears through the grapevine that she's broken up with John Lucas. Her sparse social media presence confirms it.

He wants to congratulate her – to congratulate him. He wants to pop a new bottle of champagne and flaunt Catherine de Bourgh's rigid rules against drinking at the office in her face. He wants to make an event where all the single professionals in the firm can go out and lose themselves on the dance floor.

But it's not as if he's heard of the cancelled wedding from Lizzie herself.

And because she didn't mention it, neither can he.

* * *

_A/N: Not that much progress, but some! This story is so different from Fathers Know Best, that I sometimes get whiplash going between them, hehe. I'm currently working on a couple other works, and inspiration has been hit-and-miss so far. Hope they'll end up good! Thanks for reading this unusual AU :)_


	4. Chapter 4

"_What is wrong_?" She insists, racing after him into his office. Her heels cause strong, loud, unforgiving echoes.

Darcy folds himself on his couch – and rubs his hands over his face. "I'll fix it."

"Catherine made it clear that you're in danger of going to jail, and I _will not _let that happen."

"There's nothing you can do."

"There's something – there's always something." Lizzie slides on the seat beside him. Her hands reach for his. He doesn't look at her, but he feels her there, with him – when he needs it most. "Let me work my Lizzie magic."

Despite himself, Darcy smirks, just a bit. "You're not omnipotent."

"I can be."

He meets her eye, hoping that she'll interpret the despair he's feeling in his gut as something intriguing.

"Do you happen to have connections that can make a genuine perjury incident go away?"

"I – might."

He smiles softly at her – at her confidence despite it all. She's loyal, and she's smart. Every other person in the firm – _especially _Billy Collins – would be more than happy to use this opportunity to get rid of him for good.

He doesn't deserve her – but, somehow, she's still here.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?" She asks, all tenderness and calm. Her right hand runs gently up and down his upper back.

"I may have closed an eye – quite deliberately – to some forgery and bribery fifteen years ago with regards to a man I had cause to believe would hurt my family."

"Your sister."

"Yes." He relishes that she knows – that she's the only person in this entire building that knows about the one family member whose welfare he still cares about.

Lizzie nods. "They can't pin that on you – can they?"

"No." Darcy feels his chest tightening again. "But the judge who handled his trial – where I bore witness – can."

She nods slowly. He hopes it doesn't mean she's rethinking her allegiances.

"Give me two days."

"Lizzie, you don't have to – "

"Two days," she repeats.

Then she pecks him on the cheek and walks away.

He tries to fix it himself. He tries to study the case from multiple angles, and he tries to consider every possible peace offering he can dish out to placate the enemies on his trail. But everything costs something – and he's grown too much as a person of late to let anyone else be his sacrificial lamb.

Then, two days later, he gets the news.

"Dismissed? What do you mean dismissed?" He stares, open-mouthed, at Catherine de Bourgh.

The senior partner shrugs. "Ask Lizzie. I got the news from her. Seems like they found bigger fish to fry."

"Lizzie – " He wonders why she didn't tell him first; and he's even more surprised to learn, after some rudimentary inquiries, that she'd _called _with the news – and didn't seem to plan to come in to work today.

He's relieved at the turn of events over his potentially very damaging case, but now he's anxious over something else entirely.

Lizzie said two days.

When he shows up at her doorstep an hour later, his eyes tell him why she's here and not at the desk outside his office.

"_What happened_?" He demands, shoving himself into her apartment when she finally opened the door. He reaches for her shoulders. She seems to timidly let him touch her. "Lizzie – your face."

He uses his thumb to trace the bruise on her cheek.

"Who did this?"

"Darcy, it's okay. I just had a – "

"_Who did this_?"

She meets his eye. She's trembling a little. "My ex. He did what I asked but didn't particularly appreciate the favor."

She tries to shrug it off with a chuckle.

Darcy does the one thing he can do when he realizes she's saved his ass _again, _that she's put herself in harm's way to get him out of it.

He pulls her into a crushing embrace.

"Lizzie." He kisses her hair.

He feels her wrap her arms around his back. He wishes he'd done this under vastly different circumstances.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." He punctuates each phrase with a kiss on her head.

He feels her smile into his shoulder.

"Don't mention it."

And it's those words that make him crack.

"No, I have to." He pulls back just enough to look her in the face but still keep her anchored against him. "Because I am _over _letting you put yourself on the line again and again for me – for sacrificing your evenings because your demanding boss managed to get himself a DUI – for staying the night on an uncomfortable couch only to slip away the next morning. I _want _to say thank you. I _want _to give back. I want to be that person who sleeps and wakes up next to you because there is no one else in the whole world I can imagine having with me and no one else I can tolerate seeing with you.

"I need you, and I want you to need me. I want to be that person who gets to hold your hand through _whatever _life wants to throw our way. And I won't let you brush off just how much you bring to my life as if it's all just an afterthought – because it is so much more than that to me."

He knows he's staring, and she's staring right back.

Her eyes are bottomless and bewitching.

"I guess," she says, her every word amplified to his very, very sensitive hearing, "I'm glad you brought it up then."

And he kisses her, just like he's always wanted to – his lips against her lips and their arms around each other. She kisses him back, again, and again. And it's all just as magical as it was that many years ago.

They maneuver themselves to the couch, with her securely on his lap, without a single stumble. He knows her apartment. He knows her.

And their bodies seem to know that this is exactly what they're supposed to be doing all along.

It doesn't take long for the clothes to hit the floor, for the suit and the robe and everything else to get as tangled as their owners' bodies do. He pauses a little when they hit the sheets – to run his fingertips over the bruises on her face and her wrist. She assures him she's okay. He kisses her until he's feels sure that she is.

And each electric touch, each heady moan, each passionate kiss reiterates to him just how much this – _they_ – were always meant to be.

He's glad her actions say she agrees.

**One Year Later**

"Look, I can't. I'm on a ship to Mexico, and you _do not _want to interrupt a man on a holiday with his secretary." Darcy winks at his wife at the last line, his hand busy pressing his stupid phone to his face.

Lizzie, draped on the deck chair, irresistible in her red bikini, grins.

"Yes, I am married. No, you're wrong."

Lizzie chuckles.

He loves her – so, so much.

And knowing that she's planned the perfect honeymoon for them is just another reason to love her more.

"No, I will not be there. You will deal with it."

Darcy leans over to start pressing kisses on Lizzie's neck. She hums softly. He wonders if having her elicit more provocative sounds will finally get rid of his client.

"No. Collins will talk to you. It won't be a problem. No, it won't."

Another three vehement denials that his going back to NYC is a remote possibility later, he finally cuts the call.

"Sorry," he apologizes, quickly joining his wife on the chair. She laughs when he nudges her to make room for him. He snuggles against her sinfully silky shoulders. "Thank you for waiting."

Her laughter is joyful – just like the sounds she made when she twirled into their grand honeymoon suite this morning. She is Lizzie Bennet Darcy – and she is his.

She turns around to kiss him squarely on the lips. "Don't mention it."


End file.
